


Follow the Marigold Path

by HybridTrash13, TA_Hybrid



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Agender Character, Alternate Universe, Animal Symbolism, Autism/Aspergers Syndrome, Awkward Spanish, Culture Shock, Curses, Dante's a Good Boy, Denial, Families of Choice, Gen, Health Issues, Hector's a DAD, LGBT+, Language Barrier, Misgendering, Mystery, Mythology - Freeform, OC Insertation, Talk of Cultural Appropriation, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, alebrijes, mental issues, self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HybridTrash13/pseuds/HybridTrash13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TA_Hybrid/pseuds/TA_Hybrid
Summary: They were just coming off the high of their sixth watch-through of Disney-Pixar's Coco... they were just coming off that high. They definitely did not expect to be falling asleep only to be thrust into wakefulness in a world that is really, really not their own. Not the culture, and not the environment... but most importantly...“Uh... what exactly is it that I've supposedly stolen? Can someone please fill me in on that... because I don't know how to get home without knowing what got me here!"Because obviously, they had to have stolen something... otherwise they wouldn't be here, right?





	1. Thief Shock

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am weak for self-insertation fics, I gave in to the devil on my shoulder and am diving right in with a somewhat traditional self-insert story. Although using the trope to my advantage as best I can here... also yes, accurate amount of times I've watched this movie now...
> 
> It's really, really good okay? But without further ado... here you go.

The music that comes through their headphones makes them sigh, a small happy sigh more than an upset one. It's a reimagining that they have more than fallen in love with, the instruments are hard for them to properly pick out, but that doesn't really matter, the music is pleasing for them to listen to.

Especially where they are comfortably bundled up in their blankets, sitting in more or less darkness. The reflective orange tinted light from their laptop is the only thing lighting up the room around them. And they try not to hum along under their breath as the opening narration begins along with the music.

A family leitmotif, the story is familiar to them now. So familiar, it's their sixth time watching this. Their eyes subtly light up as the movie truly begins, and they can't help the small laugh as they watch the confrontation on screen. Not that it's much of a confrontation, not really. They shake their head at the small yelp sound, and mumble along with the lines. Especially the ones that they relate to.

"They're just trying to protect you..." they whisper watching the fallout. A sound catches their attention beyond the movie playing over their headphones and hastily they tap the spacebar, pausing the movie as the child protagonist reaches for the guitar and they yank their laptop almost shut, but not quite.

There's a moment or two of pure silence, their ears straining for any sound in the darkness.

Only the wind, and some coughing from outside of their door, along with shuffling. The sounds of a door opening, and a light turning on. Through the blinds of their window they can just barely see the light, it reflects outside and comes back in. Subtle, but only makes their heart race, and they snuggle themself down slightly more.

Slow breaths.

In and out, they can't get caught now. They're more than aware that they should be sleeping, they should be resting so they can handle the day properly but... they really want to watch the movie just once more. Just before bed.

Which is a huge risk, and if that makes them more or less like the main protagonist of the movie in a weird way, doing something in secret, well it's fitting.

They remain quiet for several long minutes, long enough for their laptop to decide to darken the screen. Still they remain quiet for just a short while longer, listening to the shuffling just beyond their door until they're satisfied that it's only the sounds of their family shifting in their sleep. So they open their laptop back up and quickly swipe their hand over the touchpad a few times to light the screen back up again.

A pause for a second or two before they hit play again.

They know this scene well, and they shake their head slightly as they listen to the child on the screen talk. As they listen to Miguel ask permission. Ask permission from the wrong person. It's... painful in a way because they know the plot, and the twist, and the truth. But they can only sit and watch.

And force themself to be quiet.

They're not planning on getting caught. Although they still can't help the small knee-jerk laugh under their breath at the character introductions that follow. As painful as the truths behind them are and of course...

"Two seconds and you already break your promise..." softly spoken with a shake of the head. Couldn't wait, but they also frown. "Dante was still with them... and even here..." they pause for a moment as the action on screen continues. "Dante was already trotting towards Hector..."

All the hints, all of the subtly... and of course, the meet up in the phonebooth, part of them wonders exactly what Hector's wait, wait, wait moment really was. Partially processing, and partially trying to figure out... who and where maybe? Considering the history. Still all they can do is continue to watch.

Shaking their head slightly at some of the events as they unfold and quietly, softly humming along with the music in the background.

They snuggle further into the blankets as the movie continues. Letting out a small sound as it moves on into Shantytown, grinning as they watch the boys perform. Wincing at the following argument, it's a misunderstanding, but it still hurts. And of course, the confrontation right after.

They shake their head at the following events, before falling into pure silence. Focusing on their breathing, the reveal.

Something that they had spoilt for them the first time they watched this movie. Something that they're still not over, but even now. Their sixth watch, the pain, the tension, the slowly dawning realization. Subtle expressions. It hurts... and following.

"Right where your heart would be..." and that doesn't imply  _anything_. No not at all. Still the following scenes are such catharsis. Revelations, and reveals and the whole family coming together and of course.

She can sing.

Boy can she sing.

It's ear pleasing, even with the addition of the unwanted accompaniment. And the following events, the pain, the fear. The sheer relief. And as the final song begins to play, they mouth the words as they go. As soon as the credits begin they close the browser, and hurry to shut down their laptop. Peering frantically into the darkness to their side, acutely aware of how late it is.

It's dark outside. Dark inside.

They should be asleep.

They know this, still they hop up, sock covered feet light over the carpet of their bedroom floor as they move their laptop off their bed and set it atop the printer on their desk. A few seconds later they remove their headphones and shake their head as they curl the cord up and set them on top of the machine.

They wait until the orange light that signals that it's on darkens before they lean over their bedside table and flip the charger off at the wall. Now they let out a sigh, the only light coming from the printer itself, a light easily covered by shuffling some of the clothing on the chair in front of the desk.

Afterwards they move fully over to the door wincing as it lets out a whine of protest. Creaking into the empty hall. They pause, hesitant for a moment before quickly turning to their left and heading straight into the bathroom.

A quick toilet trip, washing their hands, peering momentarily up into the darkness of the mirror, before they go back into their room and rapidly curl up in their bed.

It's a routine they have near perfected. Subtle. Sneaky. If it seems they only got up for a midnight bathroom run...

No one questions it. And luckily, with only minor tossing and turning in the bed they're able to snuggle under the blankets, close their eyes, get comfortable and sleep.

* * *

They're in front of a suitcase...

They don't really question it, because they recognize the rest of their surroundings, although it is dark and oddly quiet but... they're in front of a suitcase. It's light, a kind of tan colour, and something about it is familiar. But they don't worry because around them they know where they are, the shed. Boxes and shelves, old cassettes and VCR tapes, videos unwatched.

But the interesting thing, the odd thing is the suitcase in front of them.

They're sure that they have never seen it before, and yet it's there. It's familiar. They find themself moving towards it, hands running over the material that it's made with curiously. It's rough, slightly chipped, old.

It's heavy, heavier than an old empty case should be they think. And they find themself absently humming as they consider it. A familiar tune, a haunting tune and...

" _You shouldn't be here."_

Their head snaps up and around at the echoing voice, and their surroundings disappear, leaving them alone with the suitcase. It's dark, the shadows growing around them, looming into twisted patches of deeper darkness against the backdrop of midnight. They shift, finding themself back on their feet and stepping backwards.

Almost tripping over the suitcase where it lies, the only thing visible in the darkness around them.

" _You shouldn't be here!"_

"Who's there?" they call, blindly, hands grasping the case, pulling it closer to them as if it could offer them some sort of protection. From what they have no idea, but it feels like it might be helping. There are footsteps that echo around them, and the voice.

It's familiar, but for the life of them they cannot figure out why.

There's a click, and in front of them a golden shimmer, a faint glow.

"Wh-what's going on?"

Another shimmer, and they hear a small click. Almost scared to look they lower their head, able to see the fastenings on the case come unbuckled. And the case slips open. They can't make out everything, but there's a red book on top. A book, it looks like a diary, or an old worn journal, they're not sure which.

Without thinking, without questioning, they reach for the book. Grasping it in their hands there's a warmth around them. They don't question it. Again a shimmer, a glow and...

They

       Open

               The

                     Book

* * *

They wake slowly, head dully throbbing. It's still barely dark outside and for a moment they're caught between being awake and being asleep. Cocooned in the warmth of their blankets and the warmth of their room from the heater.

But there's a scent in the air that wasn't there before. They raise their head up confused, and peer around, not sure what it is. Before a faint glow catches their attention and...

Now they're sure they're still dreaming.

On the floor, in a somewhat neat trail are marigolds. Petals scattered on the carpet and leading away towards their bedroom door. Leading away to adventure. They roll their eyes, but still hop out of their bed, yawning slightly and shaking their head. Before pausing, they might be dreaming but still.

Still, they pause because it doesn't quite feel like a dream. Their body aches and there's a sort of energy in the air, like the static before a storm almost. And the petals, their scent is there, almost hanging heavy in the air, strong, permeating, it's making their head spin a little bit. And, the details, even in the early dawn light that are just too accurate. Not the usual blurred indistinction of a dream. Actual details that they can pick out, the blanket's not just blue or green but their familiar dolphin print one, a pile of clothing on the chair haphazard, but still recognizable, each petal is actually distinguishable from one another, their bag left in the corner in front of a just barely open cupboard, the heater...

Something prickles, and they sit up slowly, swallowing almost nervously. The posters and pictures on their walls, not just placeholder vague images, but the ones they always see, photos that aren't just, face with no distinction. Their laptop, their windows tablet... it's all the way it should be, DS games left out on the shelf, on their bench.

All of it makes them pause, before they slip out and... Even with socks on they can feel the petals, they crinkle slightly like leaves underfoot and they look down with a frown.

They need to follow them.

Still before they do they do the prudent thing. And they get dressed. Black pants, a black shirt and their new favourite game theorist official certified hoodie. Without thinking they hug the hoodie to themself slightly before pulling it on, this is the proof, the real proof that they are a certified theorist! They have merch! And even more, before moving they grab their backpack, frowning at the nearly completely torn strap for a moment before mostly emptying it out of their coursework things.

Substituting them for a drink bottle instead, and some chocolate from in their draw, and...

There's a familiar book.

They freeze for a moment, before grabbing their own sketchbook where it's on the ground and shoving that in over the mocking journal/notebook along with their pencils, a sharpener and the eraser. Nope, they're not going to deal with it, not going to think about it.

Not in the least.

Instead they check over their bag. Running their hands almost absently over each of the pockets. One on each side, a back pocket, two middle ones, and the front one. Plenty of them, enough to fit anything and everything that they might need. Need for what though? They don't know. But assured that they have everything for the moment they stand up, awkwardly pulling the pack on as they stare at the marigold path leading towards their door.

They take a deep breath, and with their shoes lightly stepping over the petals they leave the room.

The petals lead them down the hall, and towards the front door. But they pause, giving a glance into the kitchen. It's only a matter of stepping off for a moment or two, and they grab some fruit. A banana, a mandarin and... they grab some cookies from the pantry. Now they step through the front door, wincing automatically as the cool Winter early morning air hits them, and taking a breath. It's still barely dawn.

Barely beginning to get light.

Still they follow the petals. Down the street, past familiar buildings, homes, houses and eventually the shops and the school. And still the path continues, leading them further, until the town gives way to the countryside, the path leads them past the pond, the lake, leads them to a familiar place.

They hadn't even been aware it was within walking distance really.

The gate's not yet open, not really. But there's a small gap, and they've always been somewhat squirrely. They squeeze their way through and take a deep breath, a prickling over their skin. There's a weight in their pocket and they pause, hand slipping down. The shape is familiar, comforting, although they don't really remember grabbing it.

Their phone.

They take another breath, the prickling a bit more acute as they shiver and hug themself slightly, shifting nervously on the marigold path. Still they follow.

They have to follow, even as the way their surroundings light up tells them that it is moving on towards actual morning, the sun rising and if they were to get caught. Well they could Pokémon GO excuse, which would fall apart the moment they pulled their phone out since the app isn't currently installed but still.

Abruptly the path ends.

Ends at a familiar concrete line, a sectional really. And as they raise their head they can see the even more painfully familiar plaque.

Why? Why are they here? They drop down, unconsciously, a tightening in their chest as their eyes sting. A hand reaches out uselessly grasping for something that's not there. Something that will never be there, never again. Gone for years, and yet kneeling there with their knees against the ground the pain is as fresh as it ever was.

There's an odd sound in the air and they let out a breathy choked kind of wheeze, before curling their hand back to their chest. Closing their eyes they bow their head and mutter nonsense to themself. Words that don't quite make sense.

Around them the breeze lazily stirs the grass, sends a few stray spare leaves over the neat lawn of the Cemetery. And the marigolds shine, a weird distant tinkling sound reaching their ears. A hum, and their raise their head up, confused blinking.

All at once the wind is whipping around them. Howling up into a gale, and they let out a small yelp, there's a call, someone shouting, and they startle whipping around. Only for their feet to catch, and immediately they slam back into the ground.

Their lack of coordination familiar and painful as they wheeze pushing against the mud and grass, now streaked due to their fall and stand back up.

The marigolds spin up and away around them, blocking their view and almost with a sort of madness they wonder where someone managed to get all those petals from? How many flowers? How much effort was it. The wind is screaming at them, and battering really, showering them in the petals as they let out a sound of protest.

All at once it stops, the petals falling around them and settling on the ground.

Ground that's no longer grass, no longer the familiar, if mourning, surroundings of the Cemetery. Ground that's hard, cement, although they are still standing on the amber of the marigolds. Confused they stare at the ground, beyond the tips of their shoes before slowly raising their head up.

Ahead of them is a familiar sight.

A breathtaking sight.

But a sight that is in no way possible real.

Because it can't be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside, this story is coming from a weird place, and I am going to try and be respectful, but to be fair, I'm an Australian who has had very little exposure to the Culture in question and while I do try to research there are bound to be fallacies. Also as an insertation, the character inserted may very well cross lines I'm not aware of... please point these out, so I can adjust things, and learn.
> 
> While I won't erase their actions/responses, I'll have characters around them react, correct them and teach them. Because that's important. But anyway... I can only research so much on my own, and this might be awkward... but this is still a story that comes from my love of the movie(and my unfortunate weakness for self-inserts) so I will do my best to be as respectful as possible... to the culture and the movie but anyway... for the moment well. Yeah, thanks. 
> 
> Also since most of the Spanish will likely be provided via help from a dictionary site and translator... uh, corrections would be appreciated there when needed, thankyou.


	2. Tickets Tickets Curses

The sight before them keeps them rooted in their spot. Feet resting on glowing petals, and the scent is still thick and heavy in the air. That scent more than anything else is what they focus on, heavy in the air, and pungent. Still, that scent is what keeps them there more than anything else, it's weirdly nostalgic...

Even if they're not able to fully describe it even to themself, it's just marigolds.

Perhaps it's a little dusty, a little musky, something that one might associate with a funeral... but that's fitting for where they seem to be. And they almost step forwards, eyes drawn to the lights, buildings stacked upon buildings beyond the gateway station area right in front of them. Bridges, other bridges made from the same petals, cascading waterfalls of marigold that tumble down into the abyss to disappear beside them... But they can't.

They're rooted to the one spot. Eyes darting trying to take in everything, and mind screaming that it has to be a dream. It can't be real. It's impossible.

" _And remember to return before sunrise. Enjoy your visit!"_

The overhead announcement is enough to startle them. A slight flinch, pulling back and several steps back across the bridge. Away from the station in front of them. Away from the familiar place that is only familiar because they have seen it so many times in the past few weeks. Rewatch after rewatch of their latest obsession really.

A Pixar family film.

So they have to be dreaming.

But still.

They can feel the stares of the skeletons around them, feel the confusion, shock and maybe a bit of fear. After all, they are still obviously alive. And more telling, they probably don't look Mexican in the least. They're very much white, pale and milky... at least it's not sickly. But they have a cream complexion, and it's with some self-consciousness that they drop down into the petals of the bridge beneath them and tug the hood of their theorist hoodie up to cover their curls. Teeth begin to worry at their lip and their eyes dart around trying to find something, anything else that might prove this is a dream.

Their hands move, finding purchase on the straps of their backpack and clutching tight. A few seconds later they see a familiar red hood. Miguel, and considering that. Their eyes drift to the side, to the Departures gate and as if he had been waiting for a cue. For them to look his way...

"Yes, it is I. Frida Kahlo." Hector's there, just stepping up in that familiar disguise. An almost hysterical sounding bark of a laugh manages to break from their throat as they stare, witnessing one of the scenes from the movie in person. "Shall we skip the scanner? I'm on so many ofrendas, it'll just overwhelm your blinky thingie..." They can't help but grin at the words, the terminology that he uses. Blinky thingy indeed. They step forwards at the harsh sound of rejection, mouthing along with the Departures Agent, they know the lines.

"Well shoot. Looks like no one put up your photo," the pause and the smug way that the name is said "Frida..."

"Okay, when I said I was Frida... just now? That... that was a lie. And I apologize for doing that." The small movements, the awkwardness of just admitting that it was a lie. Their feet go from the petals to full concrete almost without them noticing as the Agent reminds him of the rules.

"No photo on an ofrenda, no crossing the bridge."

"You know what, I'm just gonna zip right over, you won't even know I'm gone." His casual way of slipping past, just slightly, an awkward shrug and forced grin and they find themself nodding their head eagerly, continuing to move closer even as he finally darts. Bolting towards them, towards the bridge.

A guard races in to try and stop him, but the conclusion is already forgone to them. It fails and there is a triumphant "Ha ha!" from the shabby skeleton as he continues forwards, only for him to spot them and they can't help but burst into laughter as he practically trips over himself. Caught between a knee-jerk reaction and his focus on his goal. His attempt to reach the bridge conflicting with a reaction to their being alive.

What ends up happening is he slides for a moment, before stumbling and trying to plow on ahead anyway. Only sinking, and their laughter quickly dies, replaced immediately with the drive to help him...

"Almost there, just a little further...!" he pushes, tries so hard, and they step forwards, with all the intent in the world to help him.

They weren't expecting to join him in sinking into the petals. Their feet go straight through the petals when they step forwards into the bridge rather than on it. Their head instantly snaps down in bewildered confusion, another step, they're... they're sinking? They don't think, instead bolting for themself, and promptly find themself slamming into the petals their feet unable to find any purchase as the petals beneath them shift and slip away.

Which lands them right beside their sunken companion of a skeleton, just a few steps ahead of the guards who're already crossing over to them.

"Upsy-daisy..."

"Well..." they huff as skeletal hands also haul them up alongside Hector. "That's the sweet, sweet scent of failure right there..." And they have to cough a little, blowing harshly to clear the petals from their mouth, it leaves a weird taste in their mouth, somewhat bitter. Not entirely horrible though...

"Fine, okay. Fine, who cares..." their companion seems to have a few more words, straining slightly and shaking his fist as he yells at the stupid bridge. "Dumb flower bridge!"

"Dumb! Flower! Bridge!" they agree with him, shouting the words before yanking themself away slightly. But they can't quite get their feet under them, so they have no choice but to let themself be led away(although it's more be dragged away) into the Department. And people are staring at them, more obviously now. They have no clue if it's for the same reasons as earlier though.

They're a stranger in a strange land, still alive, but also not Mexican at all.

Yet they haven't struggled to understand anyone yet. Maybe it's because they've been covered in marigolds for the most part, they're already planning on shoving a whole bunch of them into their backpack. Just in case, besides they don't yet know or understand why they're here yet. Is this a curse? A dream(something that they're getting less and less sure of because while this can't be real, it's a bit too focused...), they followed Marigolds here!

They think it's a curse, but what did they steal?

The red book, they don't know where that came from. It's just kind of there.

But they do know what it is, vaguely. And that knowledge makes something curl in their stomach, an uncomfortable twist that causes them to want to rub their arms. Anxiously, awkwardly jolting, jerking for no reason aside shivers.

The skeleton who tumbled in the marigolds with them(Hector) is led off in another direction. Away from them. And something in them screams as they watch him being led away. So they begin to scream, struggling against the hands holding them until they're unceremoniously dropped into a chair in a small officer room. Their pack is taken away from them and in more than a small huff they curl up and glare at the skeleton who takes a seat across from them.

As the officer talks they spend the entire time glaring, not really listening to the words that they're saying because these people know nothing.

Nothing.

Then again they barely know anything, as the officer keeps talking their glare slides away and their arms drop down. A tremble goes through them and they find themself chewing their bottom lip nervously, eyes darting quickly from side to side, observing the room before glancing out the window.

Colourful creatures flit through the air. Alebrijes, animals that are combinations of creatures that they couldn't even... Wait! They are on their feet within a heartbeat, ignoring the officer's yelp as they dart to the window and press their hands against the glass. Eagerly they splay their hands and squish their face close, eyes searching for the creature that had caught their attention.

For a heartbeat they can't see it, and they deflate, disappointment curling up in their belly before there is a darting movement and right in front of them, flipping excitedly in the air is a mostly canine figure.

"Obi!" they laugh, recognizing the dog, even with the differences. And what differences they are, humming iridescent wings, and sharp dragon like claws on her front paws, a longer tail, with a rattle on the end. But still mostly canine, still obviously a dog, a loyal companion. The alebrije lets out a sharp bark, that's not entirely right, but still. "Obi!"

"Is that your Alebrije?" the officer is frowning at them and they lean away from the window for a moment to peer at the skeleton.

"Well, I don't know about her being an Alebrije exactly... but yeah. That's Obi!" there's a warmth in them, and they find themself happily humming and bouncing slightly on the spot. "She's my dog... well was my dog, she died a while back though, in..." they trail off, the pain raising up sharp and acute, choking the words before they can properly find them.

The moment hurts still, even if it was quick, easy. Painless.

Not at all like the death of...

They wince.

"Anyway..." the officer sighs, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand, the papers that the officer is looking over. "There are a few things we clearly need to discuss, aside your behaviour." They snort, rolling their eyes, and the officer frowns at them. To which they only offer a cheeky smile. "Causing a disruption of Bridge Traffic, Attempting to illegally cross the bridge without proper clearance, fleeing an officer, stealing-"

"Hey, Hey! Wait a minute!" they interrupt the officer, they can accept all the other things, because they probably did do at least some of those things. Although belatedly they do wonder exactly how they were supposed to get proper clearance to cross the bridge when they weren't even from Mexico...

And also weren't dead so likely didn't have a photo... but still that begs the question of why they were falling through the bridge in the first place. They rapidly shake their head, forcing their mind back on track, and slamming their hands down onto the desk in front of them, before pointing right at the officer.

"I didn't steal anything!" they declare, jabbing their finger forwards before pushing themself back and rocking on their heels. "I try not to make it a habit of doing anything more illegal than watching a movie on my computer at midnight..." they shake their head, and clap their hands once, making sure to hold the officers attention as they rest one hand on their chest and motion. Sweeping a few of the petals still clinging to them off and onto the floor. "I merely followed the trail of marigolds that appeared in my room... that's all!"

By the flat look they're receiving they can tell that the officer doesn't really believe them and they huff. Shaking their head.

"Look! I'm telling the truth okay, I haven't stolen anything, at least... not on purpose..." awkwardly they shuffle, hands twitching slightly. "A-and anyway... it wasn't even close to Dia de Muertos... last I checked it was the Sixth of July..." and isn't that a huge difference, what a leap to make. Oh and one more thing to add onto that. "2018."

"tira el otro, tiene campanas." Now it's the officer's turn to snort.

"Hey! I'm telling the truth!" they say. Maybe they don't know exactly what the officer is saying but they know that tone. The look. "I am... as unbelievable as it may sound..."

"Si, si... Whatever you say Muchacha" They huff. "So, what did you steal?"

"I don't know!" they throw their hands up in the air with some added drama before lowering them down and repeating with a lower, softer voice. "I... don't know..." because really the songbook can't count, can it? It was just there in their backpack, they didn't put it there, therefore they weren't the one who stole it, someone else did.

Or something.

"Uhm... Maybe... maybe I'm here because of something more abstract?" they hedge, crossing their arms and awkwardly tapping their fingers against one. "I mean... I'm Australian, and don't have much experience with stuff like this... at least, not beyond watching the television, and most of the 'Mexican' things on that are well..." they make a sound that's basically the equivalent of saying not all that great and wave their hand awkwardly in the air in a so-so motion.

The officer just continues to look unimpressed with them and they grin, a really uncomfortable feeling stirring in their belly. They can see through their fingertips, see the gleaming white of bone and that's... disquieting.

Also a detail that they're not so sure that their brain would put in a dream.

"But anyway... considering I've watched those things, Dora the Explorer, GO Diego Go... and similar shows... Maybe..." they pause. "Maybe I'm here because of Cultural Appropriation?"

There's an awkwardly long pause that follows and they find themself closing their eyes and ducking their head, not quite wanting to see exactly what kind of response that statement has gotten them. Especially because they know that the term is one of those really, really hard to define ones.

What is cultural appropriation.

What isn't?

How much of it is crying wolf, or crying thief as it may be.

As they wonder, an example, an explanation comes to their mind. A reminder from tumblr that they still aren't sure if the ever wound up reblogging. The discussion of Nightmare Before Christmas and the way that represented the topic. It's unfortunate, that it's not a movie that they have yet seen. It's on their list, but they still haven't quite found the right moment to watch it.

But they know the plot of that movie at least. And Jack.

Who doesn't know Jack Skellington?

Almost absently they begin to hum that oh so familiar song,  _boys and girls of every age..._

There's a snort that breaks the silence and they open their eyes back up to see the officer shaking their head. They huff slightly at that, because that's the best that they have.

"I'm sorry, but that's all I've got..." they admit. "I didn't steal anything otherwise, and people are  _always_  complaining about Cultural Appropriation... so hey... vaguey mc'vagueness aside, it might be an explanation..."

"If that were the case muchacha I can assure you we would have a lot more gringos appearing here..." the officer says with a dry rolling drawl and they pause. Considering the point.

"Okay... so maybe not that then..." they acquiesce, with a jerky nod. There goes that idea. "But still, in that case... What did I steal?"

The officer stares at them as they jerkily begin to tap a foot against the ground, trailing off into muttering to themself. Words and mumbles, snippets of their daydreams, speculation about the origins thing, at least a mention of the songbook and suitcase dream, but that was a dream and while the songbook was now in their pack... That doesn't count, they refuse to count it because they didn't touch it... what else?

Old coins? No they haven't got any.

They have literally nothing. Maybe... Maybe there's something in the papers that the officer has on the desk around them. Awkwardly they cut off their muttering and look up at the officer. A lick of the lips and a swallow.

"Uh... what exactly is it that I've supposedly stolen? Can someone please fill me in on that... because I don't know how to get home without knowing what got me here!"

Because obviously, they had to have stolen something... otherwise they wouldn't be here, right?

Right?

What were they doing right before the marigolds appeared? Sleeping, before that watching Coco, surely there's an explanation. They had to have...

The officer is frowning, brow ridge drawing tight and mouth set in a firm line. There's something in the officers eyes that makes their heart pound as they flip the sheets and bewilderedly shake their head. This can't be good. And that's when the announcement goes out.

_"All Officers Report for duty in locating a missing living child, twelve, last seen in a red hoodie, goes by the name Miguel!"_

And... the Officer leaves them alone.

They could wait... they could leave the plot alone, but...

They glance around, nervously considering their options. They've been left alone, and while they are pretty good with following the law. They are pretty clueless about this situation, with no real idea of how they got here, not really, but at the same time... They do have an idea of what might send them home, maybe.

They move swiftly, grabbing their pack where it rests, and sneaking out of the room. Not that they're really that sneaky but...

They make it to the main hallway just in time to see a familiar skeleton get yanked and just dragged straight into a nearby phonebooth. And now that it's not on a screen, they actually wince because oh, that doesn't look fun at all. Still they give a quick glance around, pull up their own hood, and walk casually straight to the booth.

Opening it is easy, and with an awkward grin, they step in.

"So... is this a private party? Or can anyone join?"


	3. Soy Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the OC gets stuck with a somewhat embarrassing nickname because they just can't resist the joke.

There's this awkward beat of silence after they speak, and they fiddle slightly with the almost fully torn right-side strap of their backpack. The space was already small, but with three people(well two people and one skeleton), and one dog it's even smaller. Almost too small really, and they find that they're uncomfortably pressing themself back against the door of the booth.

Their pack digs into the lower part of their back and they grimace slightly, uncomfortable with the stares that are focused on them.

"It's you!" the skeleton's hand points towards them, even as he awkwardly scrambles himself even further back against the wall across from them. And even the smaller boy, the twelve year old is saying the same. It's enough to make them ugly laugh, body shaking with their mirth.

"Si, It's me! The one who joined you in the marigolds!" they grin wide, before frowning as Miguel also stares them down. "And... the other cursed person... Must be the night for it huh?" Their statement gets at least a small snort from the kid, and they'll count that as a success. Again they find themself twisting their bag's broken strap. Awkwardly offering a weak grin to their companions in the booth. The xolo is the happiest to have them there, bouncing over as best he can in the small area and sniffing them curiously. They have to resist the urge to pull their pack up, hoisting it higher onto their back.

"A-Anyway... I need De la Cruz's blessing if I want to get back to the land of the living..."

"That's weirdly specific..."

"It really is kid..." they gently find themself scratching behind the xolo dog's ears as he continues to be right there beside them. "I mean seriously, why that guy specifically?" of course they know what he believes. They know why, but still, they find themself curious about what he'll say in response to them prodding the subject.

And meanwhile they're there and clueless.

"He's my great-great-grandfather." they valiantly resist the urge to snort, especially as Hector immediately descends into his stunned shock. And of course there's the wait, wait, wait that follows. With the addition of them there, he doesn't quite have the space to turn around, and they lean away from him slightly(as best they can) as he taps his fingers.

Obviously, he's thinking about something.

Well, they  _were_ best friends once.

There's something really sad about that, just being there and knowing. The understanding that they have and they don't know what kind of expression crosses their face, but they can feel it when Miguel looks their way, a suspicious frown on his face for merely a moment before Hector's getting all excited and right into his personal space. Even they have to jolt back before amusement covers their face.

They can mouth along with the lines, already knowing exactly where this is going.

"Yes! You're going back to the Land of the Living?!" The way that he eagerly sort of bobs down, and the lack of personal space etiquette. While it still feels very excited puppy, it is a bit uncomfortable, especially with the sharply shifting tone. Still, before they can say anything, before they can interject with the reminder of their existence, Miguel huffs slightly.

"You know what..." Miguel pushes the skeleton away, and they let out a small yelp as they're also shoved to the side. Shoved more or less into Hector, so that the boy can actually leave the phone booth. "Maybe this isn't such a grea-"

Hector darts forwards, and they follow peering around, nervously looking for any sign of the Officers. They're not entirely unsurprised that they didn't really change all that much of the conversation. It's not like they were much of an active participant, or had any real idea of-

"MIGUEL!" hearing the kid's name shouted loud enough to echo and be heard across the entire room is enough to make them jump, almost in tandem with the call of his name the boy lets out a yelp and grabs Hector's arm. He races off, away from them and they don't get the chance to call after. Hector lets out a small yelp and all that they can really do is give a quick glance over their shoulder and chase after the two.

They grin amused as they watch Hector's arm detach, the force of the boy's pulling separating it wholly from the rest of him. An action that forces him to snap his fingers to recapture Miguel's attention. And then they're skidding, coming to a momentary stop as an officer steps forwards, shouting for them. It's only a matter of darting around, before they're hurtling out of the door themself.

A whoop and a laugh as there's a joyous sounding bark, a flash of colour and the hum of wings. A wet eager tongue on the cheek and they laugh, slowing down for just long enough to raise their arms and catch the eager dog-turned-Alebrije for a greeting hug. No fear of hurting her, as the canine keeps licking, happy to see them again. It's Obi, it's their dog, it's been so long. But they don't really have the time for this reunion.

They have to keep moving. They have to push the canine away as they dart into the crowd. All too easily losing whatever pursuers they might have. But in the throng of skeletons it's hard to pick one from another... and they've already lost sight of that eye-catching red hoodie that Miguel's wearing.

They huff, eventually slowing to a walk and ignoring the stares around them. They've lost them, but there's a sharp bark, a reminder.

"OBI!" They dash to the side, ducking into a sheltered alley and the Dog-turned-Alebrije lands in front of them. It gives them an idea, and they feel the sharp grin spreading onto their face. "Lead me to them girl, lead me to them!" The canine lets out another sharp bark, before sniffing the ground for a moment or two. With a howl of triumph, the canine is off, and they follow.

* * *

"So... you get kidnapped by twelve year olds often?"

"Shut up!" Hector's head whips around moments after he speaks exclamations spilling involuntarily from his mouth at the shock. Beside him the boy who'd been peering at himself in a small handheld mirror lets out a burst of laughter and they can only grin, hands on their hips before they shake their head.

"I mean, all things considered, sure seems to be happening to you a lot tonight. 'Ey mate?" they tease, a smile spreading over their face before they're shaking their head. If the skeleton has a response for them they ignore it, instead settling themself down on a crate and beaming almost too widely at their two companions. Their own canid companion letting out a greeting bark of her own and trotting over to Dante. "So... how's this going to work anyway... Or honestly, how does any of this," they gesture broadly, waving their arm to emphasize the world around them "work really."

Because seriously, it's pretty weird. And if this isn't a dream then they're well on the way to something of an existential crisis because death is supposed to be nothing. Falling asleep, rest, not... whatever this world was.

"So listen... Miguel, Chica: this place runs on memories. When you're well remembered, people put up your photo and you get to cross the bridge and visit the living on Día de Muertos." he takes the mirror back and snaps it shut and something curls in their chest. Especially as they watch him just kind of flick it away. Discarding it. "Unless you're me."

"You don't get to cross over..."

"You..." they hesitate, but have to say something. "You don't have a photo..." it makes them wonder about all the other various afterlives, and mechanisms of crossing over. How is it influenced, memory and belief are both very powerful things after all. You're not dead, not truly dead until your forgotten, but the lines can be shaky and vague... what counts as being forgotten, what counts as being remembered...

You die three times.

Physical Death, the metaphorical death when you're buried, and then, the final death.

 _Being forgotten_.

"But you can change that!" He pulls out the photo, and they watch as he hands it across to Miguel. They don't try to grab it or anything, because really what could they do about it? They don't belong.

"This is you?"

"Muy guapo, eh?" They snort, peering across for themself at the photo.

"Muy guapo indeed..." they shake their head, amusement clear on their face. Again they're not really bothering to change much of this conversation, and they just allow themself to zone out slightly, letting it carry on around them. Instead their focus drifts towards the two canines, where they're both sniffing each other curiously. Obi flitting around slightly and Dante happily wriggling.

They're getting along and that's good. So they smile, something distant in their gaze.

Until they're yelping as someone yanks them up by the hood and they're the one being dragged along. They let out a small wheezing attempt at objecting, before they're falling silent when they realize that the one dragging them along is Miguel. Now  _they're_ the one getting kidnapped by a twelve year old.

The tables have turned...

"If you can't help us, we'll just find him ourselves."

"Wait, wait, wait! Why do you think I need to find De la Cruz?" They manage to get out as the boy whistles to call Dante over and Obi flits straight to their side. Neither of the dogs seem to care that this isn't normal.

"Okay, okay, kid, fine fine! I'll get you to your great-great grandpa...!" Hector scrambles after them, stumbling slightly and they roll their eyes just slightly. They can see the smirk on Miguel's face, subtle as it is. "And you... Uh, what do you need help with anyway Amiga?"

"Figuring out what I stole to get here in the first place... Can't be Cultural Appropriation apparently... not enough Gringos getting Cursed..." they could imagine the horror movies though. But horror on which side, who would make it, and-

"So... what about you? You get kidnapped by twelve year olds often?" They laugh, because of course he tosses it right back at them.

"Do my siblings count?" They're grinning, even as they exit out into a slightly more pedestrian covered area. It clearly makes the limping skeleton beside them uncomfortable. "But not really, this is the first time really... First time for a lot of things, but well death is an inevitability so-"

"Who are you anyway?" They stumble, caught off guard by the question from Miguel, who's not exactly looking at them, more focused on watching the awkward way that their mutual skeleton companion moves than on them. But the boy still looks up as they stumble, catching their gaze. "I mean, you know who we are, kind of... but... who are you?"

When they register that the kid has asked their name they find themself biting their lip, the running thought of don't do the joke sounding out on repeat in their mind. It's obvious, it would be so easy, they should just introduce themself and not do-

"SOY MILK!" It's far too loud, and excited and there's a beat of silence from both Miguel and Hector before there's a snort.

"That a nickname Chica?"

"Well, you've seen my skin! I'm whiter than white!" they jokingly say with a cheeky grin, before twisting one strap uncomfortable, ready to correct their statement, but before they really can Miguel is moving, excitedly with two dogs following right after. "But really I-"

"Whoa... 'Ernesto De la Cruz's Sunrise Spectacular...!' Qué padre!" The boy excitedly leans on the railing, almost over the railing and there's a flair of protect, protect, don't let him fall as they move, pulling him back slightly as Hector grimaces. They stare at the sign, their own nose wrinkling up as they view it.

For more than just the fact that he's a murderer to.

"Every year, your great-great grandpa puts on that dumb show to mark the end of Día de Muertos." They can hear the subtle tinge of bitterness, and peer over at the skeleton, something flashes through their eyes and Obi lets out a sound from somewhere behind them. And they huff, glancing once more at the huge and showy sign.

"How full of yourself can you be?" they mutter, and ignore the offended exclamation from Miguel. Because really, that is just showing off.

Especially with the way that the sign is designed, a halo from behind. As if he's God's Gift to men... the one who everyone should look up to. The greatest of all time. They find themself poking out their tongue slightly, not truly sticking it out but relatively close anyway.

"And you can get us in!" Miguel ploughs right on ahead, eyes lighting up eagerly, and they can only shake their head as Hector lets out an awkward elongated sound. A sound that they know more than well enough, and not even just from Hector, they're sure that they've made that same sound actually. It's the I'm caught in a lie by someone who overheard and now things are awkward sound.

Usually directed towards eager kids, friends, or just random passers-by who overhead something strange.

As a writer and a creative they're more than familiar with that kind of awkward, how do I explain this kind of sound.

"Hey, you said you had front row tickets!" Miguel's expression shifts and they find themself huffing along with the boy as he places his hands on his hips.

"That... that was a lie. I apologize for that." The awkward small movements, the way that Hector grins in a way that's just slightly too exaggeratedly sheepish. He's not apologetic for that lie at all, not really. And they can only shake their head in amusement as Miguel glares as best he can at him. "Cool off, chamaco, come on... I'll get you to him."

And he pats Miguel's head, cheerfully moving away from them, casually strolling off, one hand on his suspenders. A mirroring motion to their own hands coming up to grasp the straps of their backpack.

"How?" Miguel demands and they can only grin and shake their head, already moving to follow after Hector, already knowing the answer and the destination that they're heading towards.

"'Cause I happen to know where he's rehearsing!" The blithe way he says it, almost in a joking manor and they let out a jerky laugh, nodding their head and grinning as they keep in step with Hector. It's awkward, because they don't really know how far it is, despite knowing where it is... the Arts District, but the movie never showed how they go there.

And they don't know what the Novel did or didn't say about the trip. Still it seems like the trip is going to be mostly in silence so they open their mouth, ready to try again to properly introduce themself.

"So... you don't know why you're here?" Their mouth snaps shut, and they turn slightly to look at Miguel, a frown on their face. "Didn't you... didn't you steal something?" they find themself shrugging.

"Nah, not really Kid..." they know that Hector's listening, but he's focused on their destination. Leading them down the street and through side alleys, keeping them out of sight. "I mean, the best I can say is I followed a path of marigolds from my room, to my own Father's grave... had a breakdown there and then... whoosh... Here!" they splay their hands as they speak, animated as anything. "But hey... life's just like that sometimes you know... one day you're alive and living... and the next your dead and gone."

They pause for a moment, awkwardly clearing their throat and rubbing the back of their head. A nervous almost laugh coming from them.

"Or you know... cursed because you dreamt about some random suitcase..."

"A dream?" Miguel sounds even more skeptical of them now and they let out their own elongated nervous sound.

"Well... that's my second theory on my presence here anyway..." they cough, tugging at their backpack's straps, ears listening for the subtle tearing sound of the broken one, wary of it fully snapping. "Because I can't really explain it..."

"So... you're here because you had a dream about a suitcase?"

"Okay when you put it like that it just sounds more ridiculous..." they huff, and weirdly it's like they can feel the weight of the songbook in their bag. And of course the whispers in their ears. The familiar voice from their dream. "But I dunno kid, could be anything at this point. It's not like getting cursed comes with a guidebook you know... And I'm sure being dead doesn't, does it mate?"

"Ehh?" Hector gives a quick glance back to them, catches their expression and they can practically feel the eye-roll. "No, not really. Or if it does I never got given it."

"Look see, but that's life, and death!" they say, before noticing that Hector's slowing down. By what looks to be a warehouse, they step up sort of just beside him as he leans back judging the distance. There's a subtle nod, and he pops his arm off, rests it against the straps of his suspenders and with what has to be practiced ease, he shoots it up to the window above them.

They watch as his hand knocks on the window, before bouncing slightly to the side as it's more or less shoved open, maybe a little less violently. His arm is scooped up and used to point down at him and they find themself grinning at the shout. Before that grin quickly drops away, because well... they could have changed that for him... at the very least.

They were right there, it would have been just a matter of going the other way for a quick moment, or two.

"You better have my dress, Hector!"

"Hola Ceci!"

They join Hector in darting out of the way as the ladder is lowered. A small yelp escaping their mouth before they awkwardly swallow. Watching as Miguel and Hector both clamber up the fire escape. They're hesitant to follow, a prickling feeling at their back, but Obi lets out a yap, and bounds up, following after Dante.

They don't have a disguise like Miguel, but... they're here now. They'll just have to face it. So up they climb.


	4. Shut Your Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the plot starts to take a bit of a nose-dive...
> 
> AKA: Milk just can't keep their mouth shut.

By the time they reach the top of the ladder things have already progressed through the plot a bit. Hector's trying in vain to calm Ceci down, repeating her name softly, and Miguel's wandered off. It leaves them feeling odd, because wow, that moved  _quick_. As it is, Obi's still there, happily wriggling and bouncing around between Hector and Ceci.

They clear their throat, deciding that they're-

"Ay! A Gringa!" they blink, before rolling their eyes.

"100% Aussie actually, mate!" the tone is more of a tease really, and the dressmaker narrows her eyes at them, judging for a moment. "What?" they awkwardly fiddle with their straps again under the skeleton's gaze. Before she's looking back at Hector who's offering a sheepish grin.

There's some silent communication and the next thing they know; Ceci is groaning, rolling her eyes, and they're being yanked across the room and sat down. The dressmaker gives them a critical look and they just stare, in the background Hector has finally noticed that Miguel's missing. They see him spin around, looking for the boy before he's racing off to go search.

And they're left there...

Facing a paintbrush.

"Uh... y'know, I don't really need-" they're cut off by a hand gently cupping their chin. They sigh, and let the brush paint over their face. White and black, a couple of colours here and there. Dots in blue, yellow and green. A flourish and a swish and they're released, able to look at themself in a mirror.

It's almost a perfect disguise, and luckily in their case their ears can mostly be hidden by their hair. As long as nobody's looking too closely anyway. They still sigh, blinking before awkwardly smiling at the one who'd done up their face.

"Anyway... I really should be going, I need to stick with Hector and Miguel... Gracias!" they bolt. Obi yapping in the background and Ceci calling after them, sounding scolding, but they're not listening. They need to get back to the plot. Get back to events on track. Of course darting through a warehouse with people moving and shifting things is a challenge all of its own. They find themself slipping around the corners, and their balance is slightly offset by their pack. Still they skid into the room just in time to hear Hector.

"Hey Gustavo! You know anything about this party?" Oh boy, this is going to go down fantastically, they can actually see the bullying coming even without already knowing the plot, the body language, it reminds them of school.

"It's the hot ticket. But if you're not on the guest list you're never getting in," there's this brief moment of pause before the mocking nickname is said "Chorizo..." It the tone that has them curling their hands, fists by their sides and they want to scream something in response, especially as all the others join in.

"Hey, it's Chorizo!/Choricito!" The laughter burns their ears, causing them to grit their teeth as they stride across with more confidence in their steps than they feel. Obi trails behind them, a small whimper coming from the canine, not that they pay attention.

"Ha ha, very funny guys. Very funny." The laughter only seems to grow, becoming stronger, even while Miguel expresses his confusion.

"Chorizo?"

"That's not a nice joke..." they mutter for themself, getting the innuendo and  _hating_ it. Gosh when did their mind get so dirty? Obi whines again in the background, edging forwards, even as Gustavo motions with his bow to Hector.

"Oh, this guy's famous! Go on, go on, ask him how he died!" Miguel turns to Hector and they themself huff, stepping forwards fully and giving the violinst a look that clearly says how they find that rude. Disrespectful.

"I-I don't want to talk about it."

"He choked on some CHORIZO!" They emphasis on the word makes them grimace, especially as the whole group of musicians burst into even more laughter, as if that were the funniest thing in the world. Even Miguel stifles a giggle, but it twists in their stomach. Especially because they know just how wrong it is. Obi lets out another whine, as Hector gets defensive.

"I didn't choke, okay!" he sounds so hurt and upset, but the laughter doesn't stop, if anything it only gets worse. "I got food poisoning!"

" _Yeah, with emphasis on the poisoning"_ they think, almost absently rolling their eyes. The first sign that it wasn't as silent and in their head as they thought it was is the abrupt cut off of the laughter. No one is laughing anymore and almost nervously they raise their head up, to see that everyone is staring at them. Some with questions, some with horror and...

Oh, Hector looks confused, apprehensive and... is that a little bit of shocked anger?

Also, they realize they don't really have a way to cover themself for this do they?

Shit, why couldn't they just keep their trap of a mouth shut, and this is so much worse than-

"Milk... Wh-what does that mean?" Miguel's voice is small, nervous. Not really weak though, and they find themself frantically wracking their brain for something anything that they could say to explain themself. That's not a comment that can just be dismissed, not with how casually it slipped out. Not with how easily and naturally it rolled from their mouth.

Their instinct is really to turn around and run, but they squash that, taking a deep breath and hey it's that sound.

"Milk?"

"I-I can explain!" they frantically say, finding their feet are already moving them backwards even as Hector is pulling Miguel away from them, keeping himself between them and the child. Which fair enough. "Well..."  _no they really can't explain_  "I'm from 2018! That's the only reason I know that!" God, they're just digging that hole deeper now, if that explanation didn't work on the officer earlier, why are they even trying it now.

It just makes them look desperate, and guilty.

Maybe they should just run, then the plot can get itself back on track, at least they hope that it would.

"Are you crazy?!" Hector's sharp, pained voice hurts and they wince, finding their hands curling just slightly. "No morí ayer! Try another one!" he snaps and they find themself chewing slightly on their lower lip, Hector is firmly between them and Miguel now. Full protective papa mode, and to the side the musicians look like they're alternating between shock, horror, and disgust, also some realization.

"Hey! Hey! I'm telling the truth!" they say, a hand raking through their hair, scratching at their scalp nervously. "I'm really from next year, your death, the true one is plastered all over the news..." because you know, it had to have been. If it were revealed. Which at the very least in Santa Cecilia it appeared to have been, and celebrity skeletons usually created a media storm...

So they would assume that it would be everywhere.

"Mentiroso!" Miguel's joining in. And they find themself bristling, ignoring Obi as she darts forwards, their loyal companion trying to drag them away pulling at their pants.

"I. Am. Not!" they gesture widely. "I'm being perfectly honest! Not my fault this whole situation is unbelievable!" they growl, shifting themself forwards and pointing right at Miguel. "And look who's talking, thief! At least I didn't steal anything!" because yes, that's definitely the worse crime here. The twelve year old glares at them, and Hector's arm stretches out, defensively keeping Miguel behind him as they both step backwards further. Even they take a step backwards, body language defensive.

And they know that this is on them. This is all their fault, why couldn't they just keep their mouth shut.

For once.

"I... I'm not lying..." they deflate, all at once. "I... honestly you think I would- No wait, of course you would, we met literally tonight! I'm a stranger. And a foreigner..." their hands move to the straps of their backpack again. Clutching so tightly that the material is digging in, they're moving towards a ramble. "But I don't know what I can say, it was something I read, well, okay more watched, but that doesn't make any sense, can't make any sense, and I know the truth... all of it... but I'm unrelated to all that, honestly! I'm not a murderer, and I'm not related to one either... I'm just... a displaced foreigner who followed Marigolds and got cursed, that's all, I swear!"

By the way that they're being looked at they're sure that they were talking way too fast. Maybe only a handful of what they were saying broke through at all. Or maybe none of it.

"Come on!"

"I-I sorry Chica... But-"

"Fine!" they cut Hector off, releasing their straps and shaking their head. "Don't believe me! But you were murdered! And I can prove it!" wait,  _abort, abort!_  Their pack is already off their back, and they're unzipping the first middle compartment from the back, fishing around inside and muttering to themself. Shoving things to the side, and reaching for the familiar mocking songbook.

Only for their hand to freeze mere centimetres away from it.

Do they really want to pull it out?

Do they really want to potentially make the situation even worse. Their fingers twitch and with a sigh they pull their hand back out. Lowering their head, allowing their hair to flop slightly, curls framing their face.

"I... I guess I can't prove it..." their voice is low, soft. "But I know it's the truth, just as it's the truth that I'm from next year! And I really shouldn't be here!" They don't look at anyone. Only pulling their backpack back up, and hoisting it onto their back, hearing the strap's slight whine as it strains to hold itself together. "I'll just go... back to the Department and wait..." They don't belong here after all.

Obi whines, moving forwards, belly crawling and low, tail wavering just slightly. Rattling. It's a soft sound, could almost have been pleasant, but they can't-

"Wait! You didn't explain anything!" Miguel's voice stops them, and they don't turn around. "You've just spouted stories, claiming that you're from next year... that you... that Hector was-"

"Draw your own conclusions, kid..." they grumble, looking to the side at the musicians. There are a lot of witnesses around for this, it's making their stomach twist, a chill going down their spine. And also, they raise their hands almost subconsciously. They're able to see all their phalanges now. Their fingers are nothing more than bone.

"But... Milk you're-"

"I'm an Aussie! A foreigner! An Extranjera" And wow, they are surprised that they can remember albeit vaguely words like that. Here they thought that they had only retained counting and asking where to find a toilet, please and thankyou, no, and yes. The useful things. "And I have no proof, I'm cursed, my word really doesn't mean much, and apparently my head's off in the clouds as always..." making up stories, making up tales. "Just... Go find your great-great-grandpa kid... I'll just make my way back to the Department and wait it out... 's not like I know how I got here anyway..."

"Hey... But we can still-"

"Oh COME ON KID!" They swivel around and Miguel's right there, so close that they find themself yelping, scrambling backwards. One hand moving defensively to cover their chest, the other just seconds behind it. "When the HE- When did you get that close! For the love of- I could have smacked you with my backpack as I was turning! It's called personal space!"

"We... We can still help... I mean, I just need my great-great-grandpa's blessing, and obviously, if you know Hector was murdered..."

"Oh for crying out loud..." they shake their head, scratching one hand through their hair, eyes darting from Miguel to Hector. Hector who looks like he wants nothing more than to dart over there and drag Miguel back and away from them.

"I-I mean if that's true then..."

"It changes nothing!" they shout. Although it's a bit more strained than before. "It just means-"

"That you knew information that I didn't!" And now Hector's interjecting himself, finding his voice. "Which probably does have something to do with why you're here chica!" He's clearly nervous, not quite sure what he's saying and it's obvious. They roll their eyes. "But more to the point, if that's true... we, we'd have to go back to the department anyway-"

"Huh, wait why?" Miguel's interjection is mostly ignored.

"Ahh, yeah, there'd be paperwork for all this wouldn't there..." They grimace in time with Hector. Paperwork, it could be fun sometimes, but for the most part it was just a bit of a pain. "Argh... None of us have time for this! Me and the kid have until sunrise, and by the look of you, you probably don't have much longer than that either!" Hector looks somewhat guilty by their statement. And they can only offer a weak shrug, a strained grin. "So let's just... get back on track or... whatever..."

They've got the plot in mind. They've got that in mind, but it's obvious that things have somewhat taken a nose-dive. People are still looking their way, waiting to see exactly how this is going to unfold, where it's going to go.

"I mean, Miguel needs..." they let their sentence trail off, they can worry about themself later. They're twenty(they think, unless the time displacement/curse has also reversed them back to nineteen), so they're not as worried about dying young. Not really. "Let's just keep our eyes on one goal at a time..." Sure it would be bad if they died now, twenty is young, but... they wouldn't find it too unexpected.

Not really, aside the whole curse thing, there's also the fact that death would be a release. No more pain, no more suffering... They rapidly shake their head, shake themself, and force a grin onto their face looking at Miguel and Hector. Hector who looks like he wants to argue. Still he only sighs.

"So... How're we getting into this party then?"

"Well, if you really want to get to Ernesto, there IS that music competition at the Plaza de la Cruz. Winner gets to play at his party..." It seems like things are getting back on track then. And that's a relief.

"Alright... you know where-" They're cut off by Hector's interaction with Miguel. Seems that exchange hasn't really changed that much, despite the lead up drastically changing. But to be fair that seems like a minor hiccup.

"I need to get my great-great grandfather's blessing. You know where I can get a guitar?" Miguel's hands are the same as theirs, phalanges all visible.

"And an alto sax for me?" they pipe in, still going ahead. "You get me a notes sheet, and I'll be able to play whatever!" If that's an option, but they still remember vaguely how to read notes, and where they are and, hmm that would be interesting. "Miguel could sign up as one act, and I could be the backup plan..."

Hector squints at them, and Miguel lets out what could almost be a laugh, but there is still an obvious tension between the group, because they opened their mouth earlier and made things awkward by just automatically going for the joke.

At least, it's a joke when they're watching the movie, no harm there.

"Eheh... y'know... just in case anything goes wrong..."

There's a sigh, and Hector waves one hand around, he sounds all too resigned as he speaks.

"I know a guy..."

Obi yaps, tail wagging and rattling in her joy and they find themself grinning, even though they know exactly where they're going and what event awaits them there. They know what's coming but...

As Hector leads them back through the building towards an exit they feel prickling at their back. And glancing around, they're sure that people are staring at them. Maybe they're not the one who murdered Hector, but everyone seems to know that they  _knew_  he was a murder victim, and the gazes that linger on them are suspicious.

Judging them.

There is a sense of dominos in place, a feeling that something has been set in motion and-

There's something out of the corner of their eye that catches their attention. A darting shape, a glimpse of something and their head snaps around. The prickling feeling of something being set in motion feels stronger now. And they twist the right strap slightly in their hands before taking a deep breath. Giving one last glance in the direction of the movement, and racing off after Hector and Miguel.

For better or for worse, they have changed things.

All because they opened their mouth.

Now they can only pray that it's for the better, because if they've screwed things up. Well they might not be worried about their own life, but there's the life of a child, and the very existence of someone on the line here.

"Oh Kami..." they whisper, slipping back for a moment into their Otaku phase "please, please don't let me have ruined everything..."

Beside them, Obi lets out a whine, and they give a strained grin to the alebrije, before following Hector and Miguel out of the warehouse. Now, it's off to Shantytown...

Where Miguel's going to learn a lesson about mortality.

But not the mortality of the living...

 _But of the dead_.


	5. You're Forgettable

The walk to Shantytown is quieter than the walk to the warehouse was. There's this awkwardness between then, they're not entirely sure how much Miguel picks up on it, but the feeling in the air is stifling. The weight of the information that they inadvertently revealed. It lies heavy on their shoulders like the straps of their pack and they find themself slowing down. Hanging back as they grow closer and closer to Shantytown.

The contrast with the bright colours and vibrancy of the world over their heads is stark.

Striking. It goes from bright and colourful, a kind of artificial celebration to the world, to duller. More drab and dreary, toned down and with this subtle blue that evokes a feeling in their chest, a kind of mourning nostalgia. It's also distantly artificial, but more real than the bright lights and loud colours. A more reserved feeling, that just feels more fitting.

It's rest in comparison.

But still they know it doesn't fit, as the cobbles below their feet become more chipped, and there's a moistness to the air, a kind of damp that sinks into them. Still they're going lower, and they nervously listen as the conversation finally creeps back in.

"Why the heck would you wanna be a musician?" and apparently it's going to be more or less the canon one, they're not sure if they're relieved or disappointed by that, but to be fair, they're not sure they want it to be different.

"My great-great grandpa was a musician." Miguel's answer is almost cheerful, and then the boy's looking over to them. "What about you Milk?"

"Huh, me?" they stumble slightly, nearly toppling down the rickety wooden stairs, but just barely catching themself with Obi darting ahead down past their feet. "Eh, I don't really want to be a musician, it's more... performing for myself, for my family... having fun y'know?" they wave one hand in a circle not sure how to explain.

"But-"

"I mean does it really matter, music isn't about attracting a crowd to you, not really..." they plough on ahead, overtop of Miguel's attempt to object. "I mean music is... music is a language all of its own, universal..." they let out a grumble waving their hands and sticking out their tongue. "But what would I know, I'm not the real musician here, nah I'll leave that explanation to Hector..."

"Ehh?" Said skeleton looks back to them, narrowing his eyes in suspicion before shaking his head, turning around and flashing a far too cheery grin. "We're almost there!" he says, spinning around and just casually jumping right over the sheer drop edge. They join Miguel in staring down and watching him reform himself.

"Whuff..." they mumble, because that's still impressive. As it is, they have to take the stairs, for safety's sake. They fail the final step instead slamming into the ground. Which causes Miguel to freeze, awkwardly pausing, even as Hector ahead of them whistles. An action that their foggy mind takes as some kind of greeting.

They wave away Miguel's attempt to help them, instead stumbling to their feet on their own. A shake of the head, as one hand rubs their chin, before they're stepping forwards and following through the arch. Only pausing for a moment to consider the mural painted on the side.

Skeletons with wings of marigold.

Reaching, reaching...

"Los Olvidados" they whisper, the words barely a breath from their lips. "The forgotten ones, you're forgettable..." it's terrifying really. Even as they enter the actual place. Rickety wooden walkways, and the cheer of those there is in such contrast. They don't listen as Hector explains things, not really, instead feeling an uncomfortable twist in their stomach as they look around, and they find themself glancing to their revealed bones in their hands.

Almost subconsciously they find their mind making a comparison.

Miguel's are brighter, a purer white.

"Heh... you can be forgotten while still alive..." they mumble, shaking their head, a nervous chew on their lips. This just feels like the proof.

"Huh?" Miguel looks back at them. "Hey Milk, what's wrong?" They flinch at the boy's question, before plastering on a grin.

"Nothing Miguel!" it's an obvious lie, especially as they shove their hands into their pockets and try to ignore the prickling feeling at their back. They wouldn't belong here either, even if they are destined to be forgotten quickly. If they die at the end of all this, well they wouldn't be coming here into this space.

They don't belong.

 _Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, OI, OI, OI!_ Not a Mexican.

But more, there's this worry that they have sneaking into their bones, at that small difference in the shade. To be forgotten while they're still alive, they might just disappear at the end. If they fail to get uncursed... They're not sure that they would even still be around to come down here again.

They're not sure that they would be-

They shudder slightly, recoiling at the thought.

Again, Miguel's looking back at them. And they can feel their false grin cracking, they can feel the ragged edges of the lie bite at them, they can.

"It's... It's not anything you need to worry about!" they blurt, shaking their head and pulling out one hand to wave in a dismissive fashion. "It's a grown up thing! Like, like..." they can't come up with anything that grownups do that children don't aside sex, and they are not going to blurt that out. Even kids get involved somewhat in politics after all, despite their parents not wanting them to. "Like... you know... stuff! Just don't worry about it! M'kay?"

"Okay..." Miguel sounds like he really doesn't believe them. Ahead of them Hector's already interacting with the trio of ladies, asking after Chicharron, so that they can get the guitar but...

But they're struck by a realization all of a sudden, freezing as Miguel and Hector both look towards the bungalow. One of the ladies, notices whatever expression they're wearing and offers them a glass. Which they awkwardly wave away.

They're not really one for alcohol, even though they are legally able to drink now. And besides, a drink won't help, it could be a huge risk. They've never been drunk, so they have no way of telling how they'd react. Although if it's anything like the time that they got  _placebo drunk_  off portello...

They'd be shooting out spoilers left, front, and center.

As it is, they're very nervous, not sure if they should say anything. Not sure if they should do anything. It's a simple thought, a simple calculation. The altered conversations, albeit subtly, the change of timing. There is a very, very high chance that, when they get inside, Cheech might not even be there.

Or he might be already experiencing the Final Death on entry.

A second glass is offered to them, and they again refuse, a strained forced grin finding its way to their face as Hector completely disregard's the statement of warning. He's not in the mood for visitors. And who could blame him?

"Who doesn't like a visit from Cousin Héctor?" Hector's too loudly, too cheerfully spouting his line. He grimaces as he enters the bungalow, followed quickly by Miguel and Dante and they just sigh. Obi stops them from immediately entering, letting out a whine, and they pause. They look down at their companion, before sighing. Taking a deep breath, peering at their hands, and just. They have to do this.

They have to face this.

"I know... Obi... I know..." their voice is barely a breath, and they close their eyes for just a moment. Only a moment. Their hands curl, they open their eyes, huff and step into the bungalow. It's dark, but there's an amber-gold flash, and they freeze. Their feet speed up without thinking and they soon see Hector there staring with an expression that they can't quite place.

Part horror, part realization, part absolute sadness.

They delayed them just enough that... He's still there, but barely. That was the first gold flash. That was the initial flash, and it aches. A twist in the chest, especially because they have a sinking feeling. Did Hector even ask, but-

"Whoa, whoa... You okay, amigo?" Hector's voice drags them back to the present, it's so soft, genuinely worried. And they understand.

"I'm fading, Hector. I can feel it." They look over to where Miguel is the, kid looks so confused so lost. But they're not, they understand, they know what's going on. But the dialogue stops, and they feel an uncomfortable twist in their stomach, that's a sure sign that the delay created by their presence altered events, but this moment still has to happen.

"Is... is there anything we can do to help..?" they find that their mouth is running ahead without them. "To make it easier on you?" The weak skeleton in the hammock finally looks over at them, finally seeming to notice them and Miguel. And they feel an uncomfortable twist, something in his gaze.

When he looks at them, it's almost like he's seeing right through them, seeing past the surface, as if he can see, as if he can tell.

"Por favor, Señor... I would just like to know if there's anything..." He lets out a weak sound, almost like a laugh and they frown, as his gaze returns to Hector. Who's eyes are darting slightly, and they want to glare at him. He looks like he's about to make a bad decision, he looks like he's about to-

"Any requests?" There's a record scratch in their head, as Hector takes the guitar, begins to tune it and settles himself down. The absent almost notes as he tunes wash over them, but they can only stare, because  _what?_  They weren't expecting that... Not with the interrupted course of events...

"You know my favourite, Hector" there's a weak laugh, and they can only stare. Amazed as the tune begins. Soft and lilting and they just can't quite believe...

"Well, everyone knows Juanita!  
Her eyes each a different colour  
Her teeth go out and her chin goes in  
And her..." Hector pauses, and they honestly can't resist, because really Miguel's twelve. And they have heard much  _much_ worse from eight year olds.

"Knockers they drag on the floor!" The look that they get from Hector, and the small laugh from Miguel. They can only give a sweet smile in return, after all, it's not like it's the worst euphemism that there is.

"Her hair is like a briar  
She stands in a bow-legged stance  
And if I weren't so ugly, she'd possibly give me a chance" Hector finishes the song anyway, a slight glow to his markings, almost like a flush in the cheeks. So that's how skeletons blush. Still, this is a sombre moment, and they know what's coming as Chicharron weakly shifts, letting out a small almost chuckle.

"Brings back memories." his hat is in his hands, and the glow is beginning "Gracias..." The way that it overtakes him. They can't look away, they force themself to watch. Eyes going wide as it shines. Lighting up his markings first, then creeping into the gaps between his bones, before flooding over them and... he just dissolves afterwards.

Gone.

And oh boy, even with Hector's moment of mourning, he's looking straight at them with that one look that every parent seems to wear if you say something vulgar around kids. But again, they can't see that it's that bad, they've heard  _way worse_. But, they're going to have to deal with it anyway...

"I..." they find their mouth opening again, once more without their permission. "I'm sorry..." they know that the apology isn't for the use of the 'actual' lyrics to Everyone Knowns Juanita, and so does he. But his eyes still flicker to them, before he looks away. He takes one of the glasses, and they watch, hands moving to the straps on their pack as he raises it up, before downing it in one go.

"Wait... what happened?" And, oh right... there's still Miguel, who doesn't know what the glow meant. Hector's focus turns from them to him. Their hands move into their pockets again, and their eyes flicker from Hector to Miguel, and there's this huge weight on their shoulders. A weight that sinks through them, because they're the one who caused the dely. They're the only variable here, and their presence is making the time run thin. Obi whines, slightly.

"He's been forgotten." Hector's voice is soft, sad, and they flinch. "When there's no one left in the living world who remembers you, you disappear from this world. We call it the 'Final Death.'"

"Where did he go?"

"No one knows..." They breath the words even as Hector speaks them and his eyes drift over to them for a moment. They shift, nervously, a shrug in their shoulders. And they can see Miguel thinking, considering things, but how much of a conversation was there? A few moments, a couple of sentences?

"But I've met him... I could remember him, when I go back..."

"Doesn't work like that kid..." they're the one cutting in, leaving Hector to look morose. "Memories, tales of people, they have to be passed down by those who knew you in life. At least at first y'know, stories, legends, they don't just come from nowhere, but, there's no one left who can tell his stories... No one left who knew him..." and they pull their hands out again, because they know it's a bit more complicated than that.

"Hey, it happens to everyone eventually." Hector's shaken himself off, overly cheerily finishing their explanation. Putting a single hand on Miguel's back. And they sigh, their eyes drifting to the guitar.

They have no idea if Hector even asked if they could borrow it. They have no idea, and the look on his face, they have a sneaking suspicion that he didn't get to ask the question. Still, their eyes drift back to Miguel, the knowledge, the understanding that he needs it weighs heavy on their back.

But-

They close their eyes, they can't even offer the suggestion, it feels wrong.  _What are you? A grave-robber?_  No, they can't.

"So... anywhere else we can get the instruments that we need?" they ask instead, not looking at anyone but instead focusing on Obi and Dante where the two canines are sniffing around the piles of stuff. Abruptly their colourful companion snaps her head up, nose in the air, and she sniffs for a moment, before letting out an almost howl and takes off, Dante right after her. "Whoa, Wait you two!"

"Dante!"

"Hold on!" Hector's call is ignored as they race after the canines, it doesn't feel fair that Miguel is faster than them. Keeping up that much easier with the two while they're lagging behind a little bit. There are skeletons ahead of them on the walkways who're forced to move out of the way of the two dogs, and they can only yell hasty apologies. Only offer apologies, that are echoed by Hector who's right behind them.

They want to look back, to see how he's following them, but they can't. They have to keep Miguel's red hood in sight. And even ahead of Miguel, they have to keep the bright colours of Obi in sight. And the happy barks of Dante even further ahead. It's kind of hard to keep their balance as they run.

Sharp turns, on rickety and loose boards, and yet they somehow manage.

They somehow manage, even catching up with Miguel. As he slows down, the canines finally seeming to come close to where they want to lead them. They find themself coughing as they finally get the chance to take a break, a grimace crossing their face for a moment, before they take a deep breath.

They're about to scold Obi, when someone crashes right into them.

Hector, who's not quite able to stop unlike them. They only barely manage to avoid toppling over, and give Hector a quick look. Which is then repeated because he is still carrying Cheech's guitar. He looks somewhat awkward with it, holding it between them, but he's still got it. It makes them stare, because they're not quite able to comprehend  _why_  he would have it.

Does that mean he got to ask after all?

The way that the dialogue went earlier didn't seem to hint at that. But the way he's holding the guitar. They decide that discretion is the better part of valour, and choose not to ask about it. Or point it out. He might have just, not noticed that he was still holding it. Everything did kind of happen quickly after all.

Besides there's a more pressing issue to deal with.

This place that they're in, seems even  _more_  run down than the rest of the Shantytown. And they can feel the damp even through their sneakers, the wooden walkway they're standing on partially sunk. Just enough that it laps at their shoes and soaks through. They hate having wet socks, they're the absolute  _worst_. They grimace at the feeling.

But also, there's something, a bit darker, a bit more ominous feeling about this area, and there's a prickling feeling at their back, a feeling of eyes on them.  _Unfriendly eyes_  that makes them shudder, bringing their arms around to hug themself, and rubbing their upper arms slightly.

"M-Miguel!" they call, eyes darting to the boy, where he's moved forwards, closer to their two animal companions. "Could you come back here, I... I don't think that we-"

"Ay! Dios mío!" Hector's exclamation catches their attention and their head snaps around. "Ch-chamaco... get back here!"

"Miguel! That's not safe!" they shout at the same time, one hand moving to the side of their head, tangling in their curls almost ready to pull on them in frustration. "Miguel!" they call again, there's a horrible twisting feeling in their stomach, a sickness in their bones. And Miguel's just ahead of them, balancing precariously on an outjutting piece of the walkway, trying to get even closer to their canine companions. He could fall, he could fall and really hurt himself.

There's something weird about it, and it prickles. But mostly they're just worried. Miguel needs to get back, he needs to-

Obi jumps, and their heart feels like it stops when Miguel and Dante follow without a second of hesitation.

But before either they, or Hector could rush forwards, there's a shift. Footsteps behind them, and a low, ominous sounding laugh from right behind them. And that voice...

"Well, well, well, look at what we have here..." their throat feels like it's locking up, and they suddenly struggle to breathe, feeling the strong need to swallow. "You really,  _really_  shouldn't be here!"


	6. Arrow

That voice.

_That VOICE!_

For a moment they're in the darkness again. In that backyard shed, standing with a suitcase in front of them, and a songbook in their hands. Open with the truth obvious on its pages. For a moment they're home, or as close as. But only for a moment. Only for a moment, and that moment passes with an absolute chill, leaving them trembling.

There's a particular tightness in their chest, a coiling stiffness in their throat. Their eyes dart, head turning almost painfully towards the sound of the voice. There's a prickle of warning at the glimpse that they get. A suit, a weird teal colour, slicked back blond hair and eyes that ring out  _toxic_. There's a chill.

They know this person.

They know that voice. Beyond just that dream. That moment in the darkness and standing by the suitcase.

"Archer..." their own voice is something of a breath, because of all the things that they could have expected. Running into one of the villains that they have put on paper is not something that they would have put on their list of things to expect. Even in this place, it's just so wild to imagine, but- "Archer!" now there's horror, choking their voice, and they spin around fully, hands raising up defensively in front of their body, a tremble down their spine.

They're only distantly aware of Hector's presence still there, and only because there's a soft sound that's almost confusion.

"Aww, you know me..." the other skeleton speaks, voice distinctly mocking and they find their mouth curling, hands fisting up, as they defensively haunch in on themself. "How cute, but little strays don't belong down here..."

They let out a small, growl, before faltering, there's a different chill that goes through them, a momentary sharp pain. An echo that's so familiar. A familiar pain, their hands pull back, curling into their hoodie's neck area, a specific kind of horror.

"Asustado, perdidita?" They close their eyes, a growl building up in their chest, this is something different. Their hands are completely exposed bones, and there's a small chill in their lower arms, their legs... they're aware of the creep but that feeling.  _That feeling._

"Not of you!" they snarl, head snapping up, hazel eyes glaring. But that chill, there's a distinct prickle under their shoulder blades. For some reason there's that feeling that they're in more danger than ever before. It's an instinctive response that has them swinging their head around, looking from one way to the next.

There are eyes on them.

Not just the eyes of the man in front of them. And Hector has shuffled himself back, moving closer to them. Less defensive and more, nervous. He's expecting something. There's an energy a feeling in the air, and they know that they're in the  _bad area_  of the Land of the Dead. But there's another prickling feeling and.

They dart, grabbing Hector by the wrist and shooting forwards. It's an action that's unexpected, and driven by instinct really. Hector's yelp is barely paid attention to as they drag him. Their instinct is run, run,  _run_. Just in time as well. There's a howl of fury and Hector lets out what they think might be a swear before they're jerking him to the side.

There's a stairway leading down, shambling and falling apart but they don't have time to pause. They can still feel that prickling and- Hector grabs them, pulling them back away from the stairs, and into a darker patch of shadows. They're about to speak out when he raises a hand up, shaking his head, and they freeze. Footsteps.

Staring out they see a couple of skeletons show up, wearing fairly indistinct clothing, But there's this weird chill, a sense of wrongness about them. Something about this is niggling at the back of their mind, there's something.

"Collectors..." Hector's voice is barely a whisper, but the one word sends a horrific chill down their spin, a sickening twist and shuddering horror.

"Bone market..." a distant thought, a single post that they can barely remember a fic that they haven't found the courage to read. But that simple word and the shudder from behind them. That's more than confirmation. That's more than confirmation, but there's a worse realization, a seeping, creeping chill. "Miguel..." Hector's hand keeps them from darting out into view.

The people in the outfits are looking around, and they let out a small sound, head whipping around to glare, mouth opening to...

But it dies on their lips and they can't even be mad. Hector's not looking their way at all, his prevention of their dash instinctive, automatic. His eyes are fixed on the figure, and there's a tremble in his bones that they can relate to all too easily. They can understand with the way his focused, but  _not_  on what's in front of them. The strangers wander closer to the stairs and their heart leaps.

They're acutely aware that somewhere, down in that direction is Miguel.

They need to...

"There's another way..." Hector's voice is soft, and they stiffen body jolting at how sudden it seems. "I know another way down... W-we need to find the chamaco before they do, vamos..."

"Si..." they follow him, deeper into the shadows. They find that they're staring at his back, or rather at a guitar that's slung around on his back. They hadn't even noticed that Cheech's guitar had a strap... or really they hadn't properly registered it. And as they creep around there's a wondering sense of relief for that fact, since they have to be quiet, and Hector's giving them clues entirely non-verbally. Never have they had to focus more on someone's body language.

Never, and it's prickling, an uncomfortable feeling, there's something... familiar but not in the way that he moves.

Echoes.

Until he's stretching out an arm, removing his own head and peering around like that. It's... disconcerting to stare at someone who's headless, skeleton or not.

He plops his head back onto his shoulders and nods it, looking back at them with an almost playful grin, before his eyes dart to their hands, and the grin drops. Their hands curl tighter on their backpacks straps, and they nod their head. He motions forwards, and stepping out it's weird, this is a more open area, and there's a prickling feeling.

But this isn't a dangerous prickle, it's more an anticipatory one. Anticipation that is amplified when Hector leads them past a building that echoes of  _schoolhouse_  and over to a side area where there's what appears to be a giant slide. The skeleton straightens himself up, flashes them an almost cheeky grin, and before they can blink, he's gone, down the slide. They want to scream after him but-

There's a jolt, a shock and they spin around. There, by the building that they passed, there's a familiar teal, toxic green. Blond hair, and they don't hesitate as the figure moves. Their own slide is something. They've only been down  _one_ other slide this big, and the speed that they move at. There's a rush, a velocity that they can't quite understand and then there's water catching them.

Slowing them just enough before they're plunged into ice-cold, freezing. There's a moment when they have no idea which way's up before their head bursts back into the air and they're gasping, desperately spluttering. There's a ring out of laughter as they splash and flail, before they can orientate themself and awkwardly doggy paddle over to the sound.

Weirdly enough their companion looks dry, only a slight damp to his hair and clothing. They narrow their eyes, pulling themself up onto the dry ground with damp slaps and squelches. Before they let a smirk cross their face and... just like a dog they shake. Vigorously, which gets them a yelp. And they return the laughter. Before looking around.

It's an odd place that they're in.

A cavern wide and spacious with a weird purple tint to the stones and the water. Their brows pull in and they curl slightly, pulling their damp clothing tighter and trying not to shiver. There's something... wrong with this place.

"Alright... now let's go find Miguel" Hector says, voice almost too cheerful. But before he goes, he hesitates, eyes again drawn to the places where their bones are visible, and they are acutely aware of how much discolouration there already is.

"I... don't want to talk about it..." they say before he can ask anything. It's not like it's important, it doesn't matter. "But how are we to..." there's a sound that catches their attention. Something distant, the disturbance of stones. Stone being knocked down. They swallow, a lump in the back of their throat. Hector jolts, head snapping in that direction and. "Let's just go..." they pick a direction.

The walk is done in a kind of uncomfortable silence. They're acutely aware that Hector has figured them out. Or at least, he's figured out what fate is-

There's a sharp bark from somewhere ahead of them. A familiar bark, their steps speed up without their permission and within a few beats they're full on sprinting, racing down the winding caverns towards the sound. Their feet slip slightly as they wind the corners but they don't care. Behind them they can hear echoing steps, familiar steps.

Hector's own ability to run is impressive.

But it doesn't matter to them as they charge on ahead. Bursting out of the caverns and into an area that instantly reminds them of a jungle. Trees looming up around them, branches spread wide over their head, and there're twisting and winding vines. It's amazing, it's thrilling,  _it's terrifying_ , they went from being in a cave system to being in a forest-jungle area...

Behind them they hear Hector stumble out and there's a small sound that's familiar. But-

Another bark, familiar and like a siren. They spin themself around and move to, a hand catches them.

Again they growl, halting more on automatic than there actually being any strength in the grasp keeping them back. They turn their head to Hector, eyes demanding an explanation. But he's looking around, almost cautious, before he lets them go, perks himself up. He tilts his head back and again.

That familiar greeting whistle.

This time there's a whistle back, along with that familiar bark and they spin around. Eyes wide and staring as a blur of colour comes to greet them. Eager licks all over their face that are met with laughter, and they wipe one sleeve over their face before frowning. There's a stranger in front of them, a stranger but not.

The blue uniform, the slightly off-kilter hat and messy hair.

They know this character as well, even the generally awkward and nervous aura, although the bunny down at the man's legs is a surprise. This is another one of their OCs. It... makes them wonder, how many of their characters, the colourful cast they have created, how many of them are they going to-

"Hola José!" Wait? What, he  _has a name?_  They instantly scold themself for that thought,  _of course he has a name_ , but still, it's a shock.

They don't remember giving him a name, he was just a placeholder character, a plot device last they checked. But they suppose now that they're actually in the world of Coco... They shake their head rapidly. Trying to push past that thought.

"Hector..." José's voice is almost flat as he pulls Miguel around and points to the boy with an expression that looks really odd on his face. "I believe this is yours!"

"Uh... H-Hola Hector..." Miguel says sounding incredibly sheepish, and that's when Milk spots the case that Miguel's holding.

"Is... Is that?" they ask, almost eagerly moving forwards, before their expression drops. "No... that's... that's a tenor..." they wave their finger a little bit awkwardly. It's, an honest mistake, so they awkwardly shift and give the boy a smile, they can understand the mix up. Even if he's been sneaking out and listening to music.

It's not like that gives him all that much exposure. That would only give him a small opportunity to learn, and he'd be focused on the instrument that he's interested in.

So they can understand the mix-up, still they find themself kneeling down, the pressing need to explain, to just gently help him to understand...

They lift the instrument out gently, carefully running fingers over the brass before carefully assembling it. This isn't their instrument, but they have technically played one before, albeit temporarily, and that was an  _emergency_ , but once it's fully assembled. They just hold it for a moment, a strange sort of wonder in them. Still.

"This.. is a tenor sax..." their voice is soft, fingers gently pressing down the tab-keys on the side of the instrument. "It's... slightly bigger than the alto that I play, and also, you can tell the difference by the headpiece!" they catch Miguel's attention by utlizing Hector's snap, snap trick and carefully guide it to the neck of the saxophone where there's a crook. "An alto sax doesn't have this crook..."

"Ooh..." Miguel leans forwards, and off to the side they can hear Hector talking with José, but it doesn't really matter.

"I... can't play this..." they admit awkwardly, sighing, before kneeling down once more, and carefully taking the instrument apart once more. Fingers light over the surface, almost reverent. "It's just... not my instrument" but they have major respect for those who do play it. But... it's just not their instrument. "So you'd best..."

"Which one do you play?" The unexpected question makes them lift their head up, just to look in the direction of Hector and José, the voice isn't Hector's, so he's not the one asking.

They frown for a moment, rolling their eyes. Because really, weren't they... no of course not, they were having their own little discussion. It doesn't matter but.

"I am still a novice, I play the alto saxophone." They say, although they're not  _really_  a novice. But for the sake of how the saxophone's tend to be measured up in comparison to one another, and since the alto is the one considered a 'beginner's saxophone' it's an apt enough comparison to make.

They're not embarrassed by it. If anything there's a weird sort of pride just in the fact that they can-

The case with the tenor is taken from them and they barely have a moment to blink when José turns around, sharply whistles, and the alebrije springs to his side.

"Magdalena" he snaps, voice an odd tone as the bunny's ears flick "traiga el saxófono alto" he swings the case to his side and snaps one heel and they watch with a certain kind of awe as the alebrije lets out a small chatter before disappearing. He frowns for a moment, clearly considering something before letting out a huff and rolling his eyes. He turns to them, eyes narrowing and there's this distant prickling feeling.

His eyes aren't the only eyes on them.

In the air hovering beside them Obi lets out a sudden growl and their hands shoot to the straps of their pack. Their head snaps around, their body shuddering, they know that feeling, the creeping awareness that they're not alone. They're not safe here, there is still danger, a predator is lurking close.

But they can't see anyone around, the jungle working against them.

Their eyes dart, but they can't see even a glimpse of anyone. So they force a breath, pushing down the feeling even as the skeleton across from them shifts. An odd twist to his expression before he's turning to Hector, shifting the tenor's case on his hips and speaking in a hushed tone to Hector.

That prickle is getting closer. There's a sort of insane buzz that echoes in their head, a curl of the energy in the air and they find a laugh bubbling up in them. It's ludicrous, the situation is  _ludicrous_.

They breakdown. Laughter bubbling up from somewhere in their chest and they buckle, curling over slightly. It's not funny, not really, but they can't help it. Until there's a case shoved into them and they're forced to yelp. An unimpressed expression is what they're met with, blue tinted eyes partially narrowed, slightly pursed lips. And those markings... They let out a couple more snickers, arms curling around the case before the other rolls his eyes and leaves them.

Talking to Hector one last time, before waving them away. There's a brief "Adios" as he leaves, and the footsteps retreat gives them a chill.

A shuddering feeling even as their arms curl around the saxophone case. There's a chill that shoots through them at the finality of the retreating sound. And more than that... the feeling of eyes. They can distantly hear Miguel saying something, voice excited, but they can't focus on it.

Obi lets out a small growl and they sling the strap of the carry case over a shoulder, a growl of their own making its way out. There's a rumble in the back of their throat and they raise their shoulders, feeling the shift of their pack and the saxophone case. They're not a fighter, not really but. They aren't scared of defending themself defending those they care for.

"Ay! Dios mío!" Hector's voice sounds like it's pitched up, fear really. But that gives them a sick feeling, and their hands shift, one coiling almost protectively on the saxophone case, the other around the torn strap of their backpack. There's a rising energy in the air, a sick twisting feeling that creeps and coils in their body.

There's a crossroads here.

A choice that needs to be made. One way or the other, something is going to happen here, and they know that neither choice is going to lead to good things. A kaizo trap, there's no real win here, only a small momentary relief should they choose right. And they can see their pursuers now, the ones who're chasing them.

Those non-descript outfits, and that teal suit. Seems like Archer at the least is a ringleader as he steps forwards, grin too sharp. Part of them wants to curse the skeleton who had just left them with the understanding they're going to continue with their journey. A small glance back, Miguel's moved to Hector who's body is trembling, shaking with a kind of energy.

There's a choice here.

A choice.

They could try to fight, they could scream, hope that there's someone,  _anyone_  around that could hear to help them(they know that José's around, but if he'd come...) or... They could run again.

And as Archer steps forwards, malicious glee alight in those toxic, toxic eyes, they think that they already know, exactly what their choice is.

So now it's just a matter of waiting for that opening.

"You might as well just stop running, that anxious moron will not come back and help..." Archer crows stepping forwards from the group, self-assured smirk on his face, and they allow one of their own to subtly curl at their mouth, challenge accepted.

"Oh... but you're underestimating us Archer" they breathe, after all. When you're cornered is when all the stops come out.


	7. Los Perdidos

It’s a certain hum that’s in their body. A certain tingle of energy that has them curling their hands, fingers twitching against the material of the straps of their pack and the saxophone case. They take a breath, eyes watching as Archer steps forwards, he’s so assured, so sure that he’s got them cornered right where he wants them.

Behind them, Héctor moves to protect Miguel. Stepping in front of the boy, and that curls through them. Because this isn’t right, this isn’t...

They’re aware of the others around them. Like a pack of velociraptors circling their prey, like a pack of predators. But they curl themself, hazel shifting meeting toxic green and there’s a beat. A moment where they just hold his gaze. They take a breath, and when he steps forwards they move.

The band holding them back snaps as Miguel lets out a whimper. There’s a war cry that tears itself from their throat and Archer barely gets a chance to react as they swing the saxophone case around. Archer only has a moment to look shocked, while Héctor and Miguel race for it behind them. Obi and Dante both howl and everything explodes into movement. It is pure chaos, people reaching and grabbing for them, someone cursing as they sling the case around again, and duck under flailing arms.

It’s like running around playing dodgeball in an odd way.

Just without any balls being thrown and a lot more to dodge. And when they’re out of the crowd, they give a small laugh, an almost mocking wave and dart.

Somehow they manage to bolt in the same direction as Héctor and Miguel, catching up and surprising the two of them. A flash of a grin, a wink and they tug. Pulling them down, back towards those caves. There’s a yelp, curses from behind them and they can only grin. This is something, they love running dreams. They love the sensation, the thrill of their heartbeat in their chest and the rising feeling.

The trips of vines that catch at their legs, and the drag of their backpack and the saxophone case are nothing.

_This is nothing._

“There!”

“Wait! We’re going back into the cave?” They only grin, remembering something that they had half-seen during their initial bolt. They move, slipping around corners again, and Obi barks, joyously speeding on ahead of them, a glow to her fur and markings. Eventually they come to the opening, and they pause for only a moment. Héctor hesitates.

Muttering beneath his breath “Cueva de las Cosas Perdidas” they roll their eyes, and footsteps approach, there’s only a moment.

Only a moment as Miguel and Dante make the decision for them, charging into the tunnel. They only pause for a second, looking towards Héctor before following. It’s only a second of hesitation, barely anything but there’s that feeling that every second counts.

They’re on a timer. They all are.

And they already know that they’ve changed events, and they have no way of knowing how much. They focus on moving, focus on remaining ahead of their pursuers and catching up to Miguel and Dante. Obi at their back, whining as she flies through the air. They glance at the boy, flashing a grin before grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into an alcove, before Héctor can race on past they also grab him.

A hand snapping over his mouth just barely cutting off his yelp. There’s a period of silence as they keep his mouth covered and just listen to the sound of their pursuer’s footsteps. Waiting for them to grow uncomfortably loud before getting distant once more. They wait for just a few moments longer, ears straining for that distant echoing beat of footsteps before they unfold themselves from the alcove and peer around. Obi whines, landing on the ground and doing an odd pace before they nod their head.

“Alright, alright... we need to-“ it’s their turn to yelp as Miguel grabs their arm and pulls them deeper into the cave. The boy’s reason becomes obvious as they notice that his canine companion is missing. Where did that xoloitzcuintli go? There’s a bark from somewhere up ahead and they feel a chill. Like ice, something breaks over their head, a prickling discordant feeling, their heels are digging into the ground before they can think, a whine breaking from their throat.

No, no, no!

No, they can’t.

“Stop! Miguel! We can’t go-“ there’s a shout, cutting them off. Héctor screams, and they can’t. That prickling climaxes, harshly biting at their skin really and they snap. Miguel gasps as they do their own best whistle. Calling for- Obi howls as she dives, energy crackling around her. “Alebrijes are as mysterious, as they are POWERFUL!” they grin as someone else screams, before grabbing for Héctor. Dragging him along as Miguel calls for Dante.

That foolish xolo. Why’d the dog have to go and-

There’s nothing beneath their feet. For a moment, a heartbeat they hang there, trying to understand that, before they’re plunging. Sliding down a chute of some kind. Ahead of them Miguel’s laughter rings out, while Héctor lets out a whine almost clinging to them. He must not be big on amusement parks then. They reach the bottom landing on something soft, airy and light, bouncing them all up a bit before settling.

They take a breath, before scrambling off the object and blinking in confusion. Is that a bouncy castle? What in the world is?

They shake their head, they don’t have the time to-

They really don’t have the time to worry about silly things like that their bones clearly visible, hands almost completely bone. It’s terrifying. Only having that thin glowing membrane really. They don’t have the time to wonder about stupid things like a bouncy castle. They have to scramble, or really bounce walk over the material and get back onto the ground and-

There’s trash all around them. Piled up and heaped, climbing towards the roof of the cave. That purple tint feels ominous really. Prickling over their skin and they pull their hood up, awkwardly tugging the straps, tightening it against them.

“What is this place?” Miguel asks, looking around as Dante lets out a small whine.

“Cueva de las Cosas Perdidas”

“The Cave of Lost Things...” they mutter in the same moment that Héctor answers Miguel’s question. “So you know, whenever you lose a sock in the wash, or a USB, it ends up here... or in a similar place...” they find themself swallowing. Nervously peering around. “And... I highly doubt that would be the only thing lurking here. It feels occupied.”

“Qué?”

“Did you hear what he called me before?”

“Uh... Perdidita?”

“Roughly _Lost One_.” they nod their head, ears straining for every small sound in the room around them. There’s just something off in the air. Something that prickles, far more than the knowledge that they’re still being pursued. And considering how much noise they made coming down. “We need to move. Those people can’t be too far behind, and honestly. This place is hardly safe.” People lose all kinds of things.

This is where they all come eventually.

This is where... they pause, a thought drifting through their mind. Something about lost objects, lost ones.

“Los Perdidos.” They pull up slightly short and turn just slightly to Héctor when he speaks. Rather confused. “We might run into those who go by that title. Not that there’s... that much distinction. They’re just more of us. Los Olvidados. But-“

“Can you save the history lesson! We don’t have the time for this!” they hiss cutting Héctor off and ignoring his rather affronted expression as they peer around. There has to be something here that they could use, there has to be-

There.

“Alright, come on!” they grab and pull Héctor along. Having seen something that they think will be able to help.  Or at least they think that they’ve seen something, still they have to drag Héctor along with them. Forwards and around the next pile. Only to stop, pulling up short as ahead of them.

“Ahh, Sí. There they are. Los Perdidos.”

“The Lost Ones?” Miguel asks, and they find themself gritting their teeth as Héctor nods his head.

“Alright, alright, but what are-“ There’s a cry, a shrill call from the group in front of them. And like a bunch of meerkats, they all snap to attention. The yellowed and grey skeletons all looking around, frantically for a single moment before scattering. It’s almost too quick for Milk to keep track. All of the group soon disappearing into various tunnels and holes hidden among the heaps.

“PUMAS!”

A second call rings out, and it echoes. Something tightens in their chest and a sick feeling coils, bubbling in their belly. Pumas, _Mountain Lions_ , or even sometimes Cougars. Incredibly dangerous predators. But more than that, it’s a warning call. Miguel looks around absolutely bewildered, trying to figure out where everyone had scattered to. Héctor though, flinches, looking like he wants to dash as well.

They have a choice to make. A direction to-

“Hola!”

“Archer!” they snap their head around, catching sight of that blond hair and feeling their hands curl. Fisting up just at the sight of him. It doesn’t matter what direction they pick now. Not really. “And it’s time for us to-“ they yelp as Héctor grabs them. Yanking them in turn through a passage that they hadn’t even known was there.

Racing down a tunnel that’s framed by odds and ends really. Behind them Obi growls, snapping at the air. It makes their teeth grit as they race down the tunnel following after Héctor. Dante whines and they wince, this isn’t good. But what else could they do really? What else could they possibly do?

Run.

Run, and run until they burst out the other side and-

“Where do you people even come from?” Héctor’s voice is shrill. Almost two octaves higher than it had been before. Miguel presses closer to the man and they growl. Heaving the much heavier than expected saxophone case up higher on their hip and glaring around at the group of skeletons surrounding them. How many of them are there.

More than half a dozen now they’re sure.

But there is a gap.

There’s always a way out. Dante and Obi both growl, the two canines coming around to stand in front of them. Blocking the way. Milk feels themself shift and they bite just slightly on their lip. Héctor’s bones faintly rattle, the sound echoing in the air around them. But that’s something that they can ignore. That’s something that-

Orange light flares. Flickering and dancing and there’s a scream. A battle cry really. They barely see the one who moves. Just a figure in a sweatshirt before it all devolves into absolute chaos.

They take a breath, and shove Miguel and Héctor to the side. Taking the lead in racing in another direction. Ignoring the arguing and shouting that’s behind them. Many people are swearing, screaming a name over and over, and they don’t want to get wrapped up in that. Not really, they already have wasted enough time really.

So they make their way through the area. Stumbling over lost socks and slipping on fallen rugs. Barely keeping up their speed. Only knowing that the fighting won’t last forever and that they’ll be in danger if those people catch up to them.

If _Archer_ catches up to them.

It’s all that they can do. Eventually the group slows down, and they feel Obi landing on their head. Rather heavy really and they let out a small grunt as the canine settles. Happily panting, tail waving.

“I think... I think for the moment we might be alright...” they mumble, before settling themself into the nearest heap and sliding down just slightly, letting out a small whine. “This is a disaster...”

“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault amiga!” Héctor says, and they feel him make an aborted movement towards them.

“I know, but- Argh, let’s just get going. We’re running out of time!” and they look at their hands as they speak, disrupting Obi and the dog lets out a whine. “That contest won’t wait forever!” they spring to their feet, ignoring the shoot of pain that pulses through them as they straighten up.

They move rapidly, speeding around the next corner. An itch prickling under their shoulder blades as they realize that the echoing sound of that fight is long gone now. Fallen silent. It must have ended then. Which means the gang will be after them again.

As they go, they occasionally see a faded skeleton, peering out from the piles around them, watching with narrowed sockets. Anytime they glanced in the skeleton’s direction, they would duck down.

More like prairie dogs now.

Poke out, poke in.

And yet, they would notice them waving. Watching them pass, and waving to Héctor, who would awkwardly wave back. It makes them wonder, what connection does he have to these people? And then they scold themself, of course he’d have a connection to them. He’s been here for more than long enough, and aside that he was supposedly their guide in the dream and in the movie.

Supposedly.

It really doesn’t matter in the end. Not really. So they just tighten their grasp on the straps of their pack and consider things. Ignoring the fade of their skin. Ignoring the stark clarity of their bones and the shading difference. Ignoring that pain. The ache that shoots through them.

Sharp and burning, so familiar. Something that they could choke on really.

Obi and Dante both whine, and Miguel looks back at them. Something in his eyes, that they can’t quite meet. They can’t meet them. They can’t meet those auburn eyes, so much like- A grimace crosses their face. The similarities are so clear and obvious here.

So painfully obvious now.

Especially when they already know. Their fingers twitch, twisting into the straps of their bag and they take a breath. Forcing themself to hold their tongue. They can’t just blurt that out, they can’t point it out. Not at this point.

So they walk.

They just keep looking around. Seeking something, anything that could give them an easy method of escape from this place. Like a devil the thought whispers through their mind. They do have an easy out. At least for themself. In their bag, if they just pulled it out and offered-

They suck in a breath, peering over their shoulder, peering for anyone. Any of those hunting them. Just a hint of blond, or of those odd almost uniforms. Nothing.

Nothing and that prickles more than anything else as they keep walking. They keep walking acutely aware of those who are watching them. Acutely aware of-

“PUMAS!”

All three of them jolt, Miguel letting out a small sound as Dante whines. Obi yaps, lifting up off their shoulder and growling in the air. Ahead of them footsteps sound, and they grimace. Héctor grabs their hand, yanking them down another side passage. This time around a heap, and Miguel lets out a shriek.

They don’t even see their pursuers this time.

Instead all of them just move.

Taking the cue that’s been given to them. Feet pounding and slipping on the ground. There’s so much useless stuff just lying around. So much lost objects, broken, or rebuilt, odds and ends. An obstacle course that in another time they might have been impressed with. In another time they would have loved to simply stare at and observe.

But now they can only race. Twisting themself around and ignoring the way that their pack swings on their back. The bump of the saxophone case against their legs. The ache, the pain, the brittle feeling going through their legs. Each step hurts, but they throw themself forwards. Keep running and remain ahead of those steps.

Ahead of those who are chasing them.

Ahead of-

"Oh! So that's where it went..." Héctor's statement is mostly ignored by them as they look back again over their shoulder. They're fully expecting their pursuers to catch up at any moment now. Behind them are Miguel and Dante, also looking back. Still they focus ahead once- _there's a van there._ Relatively plain, simple. But it stirs something in their head. A plan, an idea and they don't hesitate racing ahead, and, keys are still in the ignition.

"Hop in!" they demand, not really giving either Hector or Miguel an opportunity to object, pulling them into the Van, and hitting the auto-lock button.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Can you even drive?"

"Of course I can!" they say, turning the key, after disengaging the handbrake and shifting into first gear. Their feet shift on the pedals. "Well... I have my learners at the least! Buckle up!"

There is no way in hell this could be anything other than a good idea. Obi lets out a small whine and they frown, focusing, hands curling on the wheel. This is a familiar position, even as ahead of them a bunch of skeletons burst out. They feel a smirk slide over their face.

So these guys wanted to be the predators did they.

How’s about they switch the game around.


End file.
